The Candy Man: One of the most extreme serial killer novels you'll ever read... (DCI Mac McGreavy Book 4)

by Gavin Graham

The young girl returned with the drinks and smiled at Mac. “Are you OK?” she seemed concerned by the way he scowled at Fergus, angry, wanting to know why he was just hearing about this now and not earlier.

  “I’m fine, darling, I think I’ll have a double whisky to go along with my pint if you don’t mind. My friend here is picking up the bill so a single malt will be just swell…” he spoke to the young girl whilst keeping his eyes on the Commissioner and as she walked away from the table he spoke again, directly to him. “C’mon then, I’m waiting…”

  “Recently, three girls went missing, just like that,” Fergus, snapped his fingers in the air like he was playing a role in a film. And, with the theatrical click, Mac’s whisky was placed down on a coaster next to his half-empty beer glass. The Commissioner expertly picked up his wine glass by its long stem, a huge bowl filled with a meaty red – a Barolo – the King of Wines according to Fergus – which he carefully put to his nose for indulgent inhalation of the bouquet.

  Meanwhile, Mac engaged in deep gulps of his beer, polishing it off. “Aghhh, that’s good,” he exhaled, appreciating the lager with Glaswegian indulgence, nodding for Fergus to proceed about the vanishing women.

  “Like I said, three missing girls, about a week between each case.”

  “And you think these cases are connected? Abductions? The work of one man who is kidnapping women in Glasgow?”

  “Yes, exactly...”

  “How can you be so sure?”

  “There is a direct link between each one but I’ll get to that in a minute. Generally, these are all fairly well-to-do sorts of women, law-abiding, no kind of previous or past records in any case. Lara Johnston was a post-graduate student, just about to get her Masters of Law degree, had the world ahead of her, was due to marry a partner with Holland & McMillan, the Edinburgh law firm. Shona Stapleton was a Chief Weapons Engineer with a major defence contractor here in Glasgow, a bit older, but quite well-to-do. Jane McCarren was a management consultant. The last two moved in the same circles as far as we know.”

  Mid-hush, the steaks arrived and Fergus paused again to sip his wine. “Let’s eat, Mac, we’ll get through all the details of the case in due course. The main thing is that you can relax now as you’re still on-side, you haven’t lost your job, not as such.”

  Mac smiled, mouth-watering smells of grilled meat tantalising his nostrils, realising the aptness of what Fergus had just said.

  “Cheers, Mac, and congratulations.”

  “Cheers,” he responded and touched his whisky glass against the bulbous, stemmed goblet of the Commissioner’s Italian vino.

  “Here’s to your new venture, your very own Behavioural Profiling Unit, I’m sure you will continue to succeed in putting evil men behind bars…”

  “Or, in early graves, whichever the case may be…”

  They laughed jovially and drank to the future.

  Chapter 9

  Lovers & killers

  Marking a girl for death is the same for me as with the man who marks her for fornication.

  You want to enjoy her in a certain way.

  I want to end her life.

  You see what you like and you decide to take it. You know it from the moment that she walks into your path that you want nothing more than to have her in that domineering and gratifying way.

  It’s as simple and complicated as that.

  You imagine the milky softness lain in the folds of her succulent thighs, fantasising about the warmth of her easy flesh, the soak of her swell as she splays her legs upon your bed, stripping her bare as she succumbs to your command. In your own mind, she is already yours, you own her. You are the one who will control her. She is your slave, giving herself to you in every way imaginable, inviting you, to caress her furs and taste with your lips. She wants you to please her, that blooming fleshy rose, coaxing your carnal charge.

  It’s a grand tease.

  The mental acquisition of her body and soul procures you to the elixir of fervent release, and, in time, you will be driven to seek out others just like her, recreating the thrill, the excitement of the act.

  The repetition of sin as inevitable as it is titillating.

  I, however, imagine the way that she will scream as I defile her living body and cause her extreme pain and suffering. I think of the way her eyes will plead for mercy as I overwhelm her senses with real-life psychological horrors. She will see and know with no uncertainty or doubt that I am worse than The Devil and that I surely intend to steal her worthless soul. I vividly picture the dynamic of her blood spill, the viscosity, the vitality, the finality of those crimson waves, an ocean of blood, such a magnificent richness with the deepest hue of a fine claret wine. It is my solitary source of motivation, of arousal, to imprison her, and, to kill her in my own time.

  Yes.

  I am your worst nightmare.

  So, let us continue now as you have opened this can of worms.

  Chapter 10

  Bloody steaks & bloody murders

  Mac was ravenous.

  The smell of charred fat had put his radar on instant lock-on and he was ready to engage, with his mouth, like a wolf.

  The Commissioner was smiling as he saw Mac’s reaction and slid his knife through the soft meat that was so tender that it parted like butter.

  It melted too in Mac’s mouth and his face reddened with excitement as he chewed, his eyes locked-on to the glass of Barolo, surprisingly.

  “Here, Mac, you enjoy this with the steak and I’ll order us a bottle.”

  “Are you sure?” Mac asked, but he already had accepted the glass and was using it to complement the robust meaty flavours that were exploding upon his palate. Mixed with the creamy texture of a wild mushroom risotto, the side portion that came with the steak, that cut of meat was a culinary corner of heaven that he’d never quite experienced; not even in Alistair’s fancy wine bars. He chewed in a dreamy state of almost-orgasmic excitement, but he coaxed his superior to continue with the brief, and tell him more about this new serial killer.

  Fergus smiled and chuckled. “Enjoy it, Mac. The other missing person is a girl named Azra, an artist, she was selling her work through a local dealer on Sauchihall St. She was a bit of a loner and didn’t have many friends.”

  “I still don’t see the connection. This steak is immense by the way, I’ve never tasted anything like it, sensational…”

  “There were letters left at each of the premises before the disappearances.”

  “What kind of letters?”

  “Weird letters, typed-up on a computer and printed out, it was exactly the same letter in each case,” he explained and took an envelope from the inside pocket of his suit jacket. He put it down on the shiny surface and slid it across the table to the feasting man.

  McGreavy paused half way through the steak, polished-off the glass of wine, dabbed his mouth and then opened the envelope. So, he read:

  I have decided to live the life that I have craved for, desired with all of my womanly instinct and need, for all the years I have lived upon this earth, my entire, fruitless and bleak existence. My whole life was leading me to this point to taste it, the sweet candy, this elixir of life and death in pleasure and pain. I know it. I’ve always known it. Now, the opportunity has presented itself in marvellous fashion, so it is my time to answer the call and walk the walk. From this point, I shall fulfil my duty to serve a worthy Master. I am not crazy. I am of sound mind. I have made this decision by my own free will. My duty to the Master shall be to satisfy his needs in every way that you can possibly imagine and in many other ways that you cannot. Sex is his power and that is pure candy to all women. I shall renounce to Him all rights to pleasure, comfort and gratification insofar as may be permitted. He and He alone is my Master and Dom, for now, and forevermore. I shall live in the conditions that he allows me to live. If he grants me pain and suffering then I shall savour it as we savour life. I shall be grateful too for all pleasure that He may grant me; with compassion, love and hum
ble grace. I will give my body in its entirety so that it may be used and abused as he sees fits, however severe, however brutal the punishment, if my blood spills, so be it. He will be responsible, solely, for my health, for my safety, my right to breath. He will be responsible for my ultimate livelihood and all suffering that may be due unto me. I shall live and die to serve Him. If you love me, you will respect my wishes to privacy and happiness and this new life of fulfilment that has been promised to me. I thank you for all the years that you gave to me. Do not try to find me for I do not wish to be found (if you do, He will come for you, and He will kill you in the interests of my protection). I shall live and die now in peace, for the pleasure and pain that my body craves, as a Slave to my Master, now, and forevermore. The End.

  “What the fucking heck, Fergus, what the shite is this?”

  “Clearly, at first glance, it looks like some form of sexual slavery that the girls have been indoctrinated into. By the looks of it, some kind of sadomasochistic stuff, a BDSM kind of kink that has been played in the hands of a proper psychopath. All the women are into it, Mac, reading all these filthy books about it these days; you know what I mean? Giving themselves to be dominated, a sexual slave to a domineering master, total submission of mind, body and soul. You know, I even found a copy of that book Fifty Shades of Grey in my wife’s side-table,” the Commissioner was shaking his head with distaste. “She had a vibrator in there too, in the drawer, next to the book. She was…”

  Mac broke him off and chuckled. “I get the picture, Fergus…” they were getting along OK. “Too much information, please, I’m still eating. Anyway, so what, it’s just a book…do you never jerk-off, or, what? It’s a natural thing to do whether you’re a man or a woman…”

  “Listen, the point is, what if it’s not just the stuff of books and fiction and fantasy-based masturbation for mature-minded women? What if a serial killer was out there and luring female victims by playing the real-life role of a Christian Grey type of character, manipulating them into some kind of voluntary imprisonment. Can you imagine the kind of problem we could be dealing with here? Assuming that these women were just as committed and organised about disappearing without a trace as the killer himself, and they are begging him for torture, putting their lives in his hands to choose for himself if they live or die?”

  “Women are not that stupid or naïve, Fergus…”

  Fergus raised an eyebrow and stared at Mac in silent protest.

  Mac took a deep breath and frowned as the prospect of such a nightmare sank in.

  Chapter 11

  A life with kink & a regime of death

  Freedom.

  Honesty.

  Empowerment.

  Never had she felt so alive than in the clutches of death whilst a man threatened to kill her, so, it was her true destiny to find The Candy Man’s regime of torment, violence and death.

  His slaves.

  His prisoners.

  Victims who went before her.

  Only the blind may be so bold as to see clearly; wasn’t that the ultimate truth?

  Truth, or, an idealistic fallacy?

  The moralistic prison of a marriage based on lies and falsehoods had always seemed a million miles away when bound in ropes, clad in leather and put on her knees to submit fully to a master of painful eroticisms, to suffer.

  It was her ultimate escape after all.

  It is all she wanted.

  To be whipped.

  Man-handled.

  Tortured.

  To die.

  For what?

  A secret life?

  A life with kink?

  Yes.

  The kink.

  The brink.

  An ocean of blood for her sisters to sink.

  Chapter 12

  Letters & videos

  Mac frowned and slowly drank down his whisky in one gulp as he processed this information, the prospect was both viable and terrifying, he had to admit.

  “I think that could be what we’re dealing with here. I think these women believed wholeheartedly that they were falling headfirst into a real-life fairy tale, their ultimate sexual fantasies coming to fruition, giving themselves in total submission to some mysterious man who will keep them under lock and key, to dominate them forevermore…”

  “Does the press know about any of this? The letters?”

  “No. The families wanted their privacy assured. We respect that.”

  Mac scowled. “That’s a bit strange, to keep it so quiet, is it not?”

  “The families are unaware of the other cases, so far, they think they were isolated cases.”

  “Thousands of women could be at risk, this BDSM culture is rife right now in Glasgow, the fetish scene, extreme sex clubs, by keeping it secret you put their lives at risk…”

  “How do you know so much about it?”

  “It’s my job to know this city. The football hooligans, the neds, the homeless, the dealers, and even the sexual fetishists that like to get tied-up so that strangers can come along and piss on them and whip them till they bleed.”

  “Right, good, well this is the perfect case for you to start on with the Behavioural Profiling Unit.”

  Mac nodded in agreeance but still felt concerned about the lack of openness.

  “Look, be it right or wrong, the families have accepted these disappearances with grace, none suspect that a serial killer might be at large and luring them into some kind of a sordid dungeon of sex, torture and death. I put the delay on it to let the dust settle on your corruption accusations and bringing you in with this new position. We need to go back to the families and start asking questions, snooping around, but it needs to be done with expert tact, this is not just about catching this psycho but getting the prisoners back alive and the media will need to be handled with kid gloves.”

  “A sordid dungeon of sex, torture and death. Jesus Christ, the job doesn’t get any brighter, does it Fergus?” Mac swilled down the last of yet another pint and wiped foamy froth from his lips with a contemplative frown. “But, you’re jumping the gun a bit, pal, you keep referring to this guy as a serial killer but you have no idea if he intends to kill them or not he might genuinely be an extremist BDSM practitioner who wants to spend his life with like-minded women who want to be bound, tortured and disciplined? Do we have any evidence of a murder? That any of these missing girls could be in severe danger? Or, even, already dead…?”

  Fergus bowed his head, looked sheepishly at the now-empty wine bottle, they’d fairly knocked back the drinks; it seemed too that they both might soon require even more alcohol to deal with what was to come next.

  “Fergus? Fergus…fuck sake…you need to give me the whole fucking story here…”

  Fergus reluctantly went into his jacket and retrieved from his inside pocket a DVD which he placed down on the table before Mac.

  Mac picked up the plastic square envelope that held the disc. Written upon it with black marker ink were the words – THE CANDY MAN. “What the fuck is this? Fergus? The Candy Man?”

  “That is the full picture, Mac, that is the missing-link, the murders that you’re looking for, the confirmation of what we are dealing with. It is brutal, Mac, absolutely brutal, the kind of violence that is on that disk, the humiliation, the torture, it is sick, pure evil…”

  “How on earth did we acquire this?”

  “It was sent to my personal e-mail address and it came with a .doc file which included a letter.”

  “A letter?”

  “Yes, a letter, and it is addressed to you Mac.”

  “To me? Are you shitting me? What the fuck is that…?”

  “I haven’t read it Mac, I just printed it out, here it is…” Fergus retrieved yet another item from his inside pocket and this time it was a paper envelope upon which was written: TO INSPECTOR MAC McGREAVY, FROM THE CANDY MAN.

  Chapter 13

  A Shibari show & the promise of a Japanese swordsman

  TWISTED.

  That was
the title of the evening’s performance.

  It was a Wednesday night.

  Casandra was in her place, with her people, this beautiful young woman with soft, milky skin and shiny blonde hair. Her curves were perfect and the mere sight and temptation of her voluptuous nudity was enough to drive any man insane with lust.

  Reddish-blue neon bulbs cast triangular emissions of dim light against the brick walls at The X Club – one of Glasgow’s most secretive underground fetish venues – a place where unspeakable kinks were explored and concluded by bloody offerings and sacrifices.

  The stage was a low platform constructed of plywood.

  It was fit-for-purpose.

  No more.

  No less.

  The best viewing was to be had from a seated position and around ten people were crouched to the floor with their backs against a metal cage-like wall that separated the room yet still allowed viewers to take in the show from a bar area at the rear of the club’s main hall.

  The white-Scottish subject (a female) was dressed in a red and gold Japanese-style kimono and the older man who led her by a chain that was locked to her neck was Asian; he moved in a slow and fluid fashion that was almost theatrical in a form reminiscent of the martial arts. In actual fact, the man was a Master of Kinbaku: the beautiful art of tight-binding and an ultra-sensual Japanese form of BDSM bondage that can be as artistic as it can be menacing and deadly.

  The Kinbakushi (Bondage Master) positioned her on the stage and she stood before the watching faces that were mostly shadowed, yet, some were illuminated randomly by brilliant circles of artificial white-light. The man stood behind her and slithered his hands around her waist and touched up her front, pinching at her nipples on the way up, feeling them through the material of her gown.